


The Freaky Affair

by lilidelafield



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8618080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: ...Illya glanced around and in two strides he crossed the room to where April was sitting still in her chair. He pulled off the sheet, and wrenched the hood up, and gaped, open-mouthed. He was looking down at himself. His own body…the face he saw in the mirror every morning...
What on earth could have happened?





	

It was a doozy of a problem this time and no mistake.

With Mark Slate in medical with concussion, and Napoleon Solo on vacation in Florida accompanying his Aunt Amy, the U.N.C.L.E’s current dream team were Illya Kuryakin and April Dancer. When a new THRUSH threat was rumoured to have reared its ugly head in downtown Manhattan, Waverly did not hesitate in sending in Kuryakin and Dancer to investigate.

They had gone in, armed with the knowledge that in line with UNCLE’s recent advances in brain research, THRUSH too had been investing hugely in research along very similar lines. Only, the word was they had big plans on using the information to create something very…different. A weapon? None of Waverly’s spies could learn anything definitive about THRUSH’S new project, except that it was rumoured to be centuries ahead of its time. Strictly from the realms of science-fiction, even.

April had laughed derisively.

            “That’s what everyone thought when they were creating those lifelike killer robots…those android girls. I wouldn’t put anything past THRUSH. They seem to have access to limitless funds. They can afford to buy all the big brains they need for their research work. I wonder what use they can put brain-wave research to though?”

Illya had had no reply for her. They had quickly found out for themselves, however.

They had had little trouble finding and infiltrating the satrap, and they found their way to the main labs where they had inadvertently stepped on a pressure sensitive pad under the floor which set off just about every alarm in the base. They were quickly surrounded by armed THRUSH goons, disarmed, tied up and led into the lab.

The equipment looked like something out of an old corny sci-fi movie. The individual bustling about looked even more unreal. He looked very like a cartoonist’s impression of a mad scientist, with a shock of white hair that stood out around his head, steel rimmed round-eye glasses balanced on the end of his nose and a slight stammer, that gave the impression of one whose brain was working so fast that his mouth was unable to keep up.

They were led to two machines against the farthest wall. Surround and fed by wires and tubes of all kinds, the main function seemed to be to ensure that both victims were restrained so completely that neither were able to move as much as an eyelash.  Over their heads was placed what was ostensibly a large hood hair dryer that came down so far that only their chins were visible below the rim.

What came next was fuzzy to both agents, as they both appeared to have passed out, although afterwards neither had any recollection of actually waking up. Illya’s only clear memory was realizing that he was standing in the middle of the laboratory with a headache to beat all headaches. He had looked around for April, all he could see of her was a large protective cover draped over her from chin to toes, and her chin showing beneath the machine’s hood. She was not moving or even moaning. Starting to worry, he had lashed out with his fist and caught the elderly scientist on the chin and knocked him out, then searched the room thoroughly, grabbing every bit of paperwork and every notebook he could find. It was in the act of trying to stuff the papers inside his shirt that he realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothing. In fact, as he looked down at his now open top, at the small, pert breasts in their white lace bra that he realized something was very, very, very wrong. He glanced around and in two strides he crossed the room to where April was sitting still in her chair. He pulled off the sheet, and wrenched the hood up, and gaped, open-mouthed. He was looking down at himself. His own body…the face he saw in the mirror every morning, was sitting slightly lop-sided in the chair. The straps were undone, but the figure had not moved.

If that was his body sitting there, but he was not living in it, then who was? And whose body was this? Staring at his reflection in the shiny metallic surface of the hood, Illya saw April Dancer’s face staring back at him, green eyes open in shock, the chest heaving.

Self-consciously, Illya stuffed the papers inside April’s blouse…the blouse he was now wearing…and closed the remaining buttons up, hiding the bra from view before he leaned forward and shook the slumped figure.

            “Hey, wake up!”

Illya watched his own eyes open, become wide in surprise and then alarm. He was confident that an able section two agent like April; he assumed it was April’s mind inside his body; would be able to resist the impulse to scream, but it looked like it was a near thing. Illya couldn’t blame her either. She leaned forward and touched his face, staring in fascination at seeing herself for the first time from someone else’s perspective.

            “Illya…is that you in there?”

Illya nodded.

            “April I assume?”

April nodded.

            “You…ahhh…you wear me well, Illya. I sound just like you!”

Illya grinned slightly at that.

            “For the time being, it seems that you are me. I have all the papers from here that I can find. I suggest we get out of here.”

He helped her to her feet, and she tottered slightly, her head spinning and pounding in beat with her heart…or rather, Illya’s heart.

            “Blow it up?” she suggested hopefully. He shook his head.

            “Not if you don’t want to live out the rest of your days in my body. By the way April…please…when we get back to headquarters, can you try to walk more like…well, more like me? You walk in mincing like that you’ll get me a reputation that I don’t deserve.”

April smirked.

            “I’ll try…but you could try walking a little more alluringly Illya. You’re clumping around like a man!”

            “I _am_ a man April, and quite happy to remain so. I have no wish to live out my days as you, either. Come on, I think I saw where they put our communicators.”

They had found their communicators without too much difficulty, and called headquarters for a specialized clean-up crew to retrieve the equipment for study. While they waited, Illya locked the lab from the inside to prevent any THRUSHies interrupting whilst he got to work. Within thirty minutes he had managed to put together a small concoction of his own making that emitted a sleep-inducing gas. Armed with protective masks and several phials containing this mixture, the two eventually crept out of the lab and made their way through the corridors, smashing one of the phials to the floor whenever they met against resistance. Before long they were out of the building, leaving behind a score of sleeping THRUSHes, all snoring peacefully.

Once they were hiding out of sight, Illya removed his mask, and tossing it aside, pulled out his communicator pen and activated it.

            “Open channel D.”

Mister Waverly’s voice came back almost immediately.

            “Miss Dancer! You two took your time. How did everything go?”

Illya met April’s eyes and raised an eyebrow as he responded.

            “Fine so far sir, we are awaiting the clean-up crew. And Mister Waverly, hard as it might be for you to believe…I am not Miss Dancer. I am Mister Kuryakin.”

Illya could imagine the old man’s eyebrows rising high at that revelation. Whatever was going through his mind however, he hid it well. He simply cleared his throat and replied;

            “Is that so? I look forward to hearing your report.”

Two days later, Illya and April were still confined to medical whilst the staff performed every test they knew how to perform. Specialized equipment had been brought in to investigate their brain-wave patterns in as much intricate detail as possible. The scientists, admittedly with Illya’s assistance, poured over the notes and diagrams Illya had retrieved from the THRUSH lab, conferring and working closely with the doctors, and still, they were admittedly little further forward.

Psychiatric had been brought into the investigative team too, but doctor Fergus, although thorough in her assessments, was not in any hurry to report her findings as yet. She proclaimed that the two agents were suffering understandable stress and strain, but was keeping her own counsel and watching the progress of the tests carefully. For April and Illya the waiting was dull and interminable.

For Mark Slate, also in sickbay, almost recovered from his concussion, the whole thing had an unreal quality. He had what looked like Illya Kuryakin sitting beside his bed, chatting away the way April always did, whilst at the same time, what looked like April stood glumly staring out of the window, replying to any questions or comments with forbidding, one word answers. Illya was not a happy man.

With a little tuition and practice, April had got the hang of shaving his face pretty well, but April was very exacting about her appearance…even though she was not the one living in her body, she declared that she was still its legal owner and she had to look at it. She hated to see it neglected. She had argued with Illya that if he treated her hair the way he generally treated his own, it would look like a frowsy bush in less than a day. He had thereafter been forced to go to one of the girls who excelled at hair and sit and keep still whilst his…or rather whilst _April’s_ hair was washed and styled, and then sit still in medical whilst April, in his own body, sat beside him before a mirror, giving him a thorough grounding on how to apply make-up properly. What didn’t help was Mark Slate in the background, grinning all over his irritating face!

All Illya wanted was to go home. But he couldn’t even do that. Not in this body. If he went home looking like April Dancer, he would be reported by his very wide-awake neighbours as an intruder. The only way would be for April to come along and introduce him officially to his own neighbours as a cousin or something, so that he could live peacefully in his own home. He could do the same for April. But every time he had tried insisting on going home, he had been given a flat no. Under no circumstances were either he or April to be allowed to leave the medical complex. They could choose to stay in guest quarters, but they should not stir from there unless called down to medical. Unless Waverly had tasks for them to do?

The retrieval team had managed to salvage the professor’s equipment from the lab, and it too was being carefully analysed, but they had to work out exactly how it had managed to accomplish what it had done. Take two individuals and effectively swap their minds over.

All in all, Mark mused, watching the pair, Illya seemed to be having a more difficult time accepting the situation than April. She merely sat by his side much of the day, chatting as she normally would. The only difference was that she remarked every so often on being unable to get used to hearing Illya speaking whenever she said anything. The other differences, such as using the bathroom she appeared to find highly amusing, although Mark was careful not to ask her to elaborate on _that_ subject.

Illya, on the other hand was, April had to admit, having a pretty thin time of it. After three days living in her body, he had awakened one morning, and found himself doubled over with pain and nausea. April, half amused and half embarrassed had been forced to explain to him that the almost unbearable ache in his lower abdomen coupled with nausea and occasional vomiting was a sure sign that her cycle was due to begin within twelve hours or so. Illya stared at her, deeply in shock.

            “You are joking? Tell me you are joking?”

            “Sorry, Illya. I wouldn’t joke about something like that. The nurse will give you what you need to use, and…the side effects will go away in a day or two, but the doctor can give you medication to help if its gets any worse.”

Illya had stared at her for a long moment, until finally his sense of humour suddenly kicked in and he grinned ruefully.

            “You know, it would have been far less traumatic all round if Napoleon and I had been sent to that satrap.”

            “Well if it had been you and I Tovarisch, I could have lived with it.”

Napoleon Solo entered the room accompanied by Alexander Waverly and Doctor Simpson. Napoleon walked over to Illya, and looked him up and down in his new, feminine body. April’s body with Illya’s mind inside it was less attractive than usual. The hair was tied back into a ponytail out of the way, and she…or rather, he was dressed in a black slacks and a white open-necked, very plain blouse. Facial make-up was minimal. Obviously the least that April would let him get away with. On the other hand, Illya’s body, with April’s mind living inside had dressed in a very expensive suit in a deep blue that brought out the blue of his eyes. A white silk shirt and a tie decorated with cartoon characters completed the ensemble. Napoleon grinned sideways at April’s choice of suits, but grasped his partner by the hand, noting that his grip was considerably less powerful than he was used to. He looked into April’s lovely green eyes and saw a mixture of emotions in their depths.

            “How are you doing, partner? Mister Waverly called me and let me know what happened. I got here as soon as I could.”

Illya was pathetically pleased to see Napoleon. He felt a lump form in his throat and coughed, trying to clear it and cover the moment. Being female was sometimes more of a challenge than he could have ever anticipated. The seemingly automatic emotional physical responses to stimuli was most disconcerting at times. Between dealing with female menses for the first time, female emotional responses that were alien to his nature, and knowing that this might be him now, forever, he for one was finding things hard. Even more of a challenge, somehow, was dressing and undressing, washing and showering, knowing that he was becoming far more familiar with April Dancer’s body than he was comfortable with. He had at first tried to shower with his eyes closed in order to maintain her modesty, but after slipping and nearly breaking his ankle… _her ankle_ , he realized that it was something they both would have to deal with.

Illya tried to smile. He opened his mouth to reply to Napoleon’s question, but Doctor Simpson got there first.

            “If it had been you and Napoleon, they probably wouldn’t have swapped you over.” He said. “I imagine the shock of the gender change was part of the attraction of the experiment. Seeing if it would still work.”

Illya turned to face the doctor.

            “Any more news doctor?” he asked. The doctor nodded.

            “Some, Mister Kuryakin. We have worked out that those machines have been used three times before, and each time switching two people of the same gender. They have not, however, been used to reverse the process. The devices have been designed to keep computerized records of every event. It appears that on each of the three occasions, the reversal procedure was attempted and failed.”

April came over and stood beside Illya.

            “What are you saying, doctor?”

            “That it is impossible to use these same machines to reverse the process. Whether it is the design or process used by the machine, or whether the process itself cannot be reversed is uncertain. However, do not lose hope just yet. We are still investigating exactly how this process works. The make-up of a person’s mind and thought patterns are an integral part of the brain itself. It is hard to believe that the awareness of an individual can be physically moved from one human body to another…”

Mister Waverly cleared his throat.

            “I quite agree with you doctor, but the evidence does seem to suggest otherwise.”

Simpson nodded.

            “Yes. It’s an interesting conundrum isn’t it? Our scientists are having a whale of a time with this little puzzle.”

Something snapped inside Illya. April’s body was reacting the way he guessed any normal female would under trying circumstances, but Illya had no experience of dealing with it. April’s hormones were obviously going to be more active at this point during her cycle, and they were making him feel more emotional than he had ever been in his life. Determined not to lose himself any more than he already had, Illya was doing his best to bury his raging emotions as deeply as possible, but the strain was becoming unbearable. Forgetting that his boss was in the room, he exploded.

            “A little puzzle? An interesting conundrum? What are we to you all doctor? People or lab rats? You’re keeping us both trapped in here like rats in a cage with no way of knowing if we are ever going to be…!”

Illya stopped abruptly, his face red, and he fled the room, slamming the door behind himself.  Pink faced, the doctor glanced round at April who also was looking annoyed. She, however, seemed to be having some success at achieving Illya’s customary stony stoicism.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean…poor choice of words…I was just going to say that we are still investigating the notes that THRUSH scientist left, and there are several possible directions we are following. Doctor Fergus also has some valid ideas. It takes time.”

April spoke for the first time, in Illya’s Russian accent.

            “You are wrong to keep us cooped up here doctor. We are always available at the end of a communicator. Could we not at least be allowed to go to our own homes? Illya especially would find it easier to put up with what he is going through.”

The doctor nodded reluctantly.

            “Very well, if you both promise to report in here every morning at ten unless we contact you, we can do our tests and release you daily. Always keep your communicators with you though.”

April nodded. She glanced at Mister Waverly who nodded.

            “Mister Slate, perhaps you will take care of your partner for the time being, and Mister Solo?”

Napoleon nodded and literally ran out of the door and down the corridor.

He found his partner on the roof of the building, crumpled in a corner. April’s hair was coming down. Clearly Illya had been pulling at it. Contrary to appearance however, Illya was not weeping. Not yet, anyway.

He looked up as Napoleon approached.

            “Women are amazing creatures, Napoleon.” He said as his partner crouched beside him. “They are physically slightly weaker than we are, but they make up for it by training and learning skills. They bleed every month and never say a word about it, they just get on with things. This whole female hormonal thing is crippling me. My emotions are running riot. If this is what they deal with every day, or at least every month, how do they put up with it? Napoleon, this is Agent Dancer’s body I am stuck in, and her body is reacting with strong emotion that I am not used to living with. How does she deal with it without letting it show?”

Napoleon smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

            “They deal with it because they have to, my friend. They have no choice about it. It is no doubt something they are used to.”

            “April seems to be handling it all a lot better than I am.”

Napoleon laughed.

            “She’s in the body of a stoic Russian. She has no fluctuating hormones to deal with.”

            “I miss being that stoic Russian. I am not fond of being a female...for more reasons than one. Napoleon, I can’t go back to my apartment in this body. My neighbours would call the police…can I come and sleep in your spare room?”

Napoleon grinned.

            “Of course. Perhaps I could give you a crash course on how to dress as a woman? You look like a female version of yourself.”

Illya rolled his eyes.

            “I wonder why that would be?” he muttered as he got to his feet.

 

Alexander Waverly returned to his office, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This brain-wave affair had so far robbed him of his top two teams. He could put Slate and Solo together of course, but it was clear that they were going to be needed by their partners. He had every confidence in the UNCLE science and medical personnel, but the fact remained that this condition that had been imposed

Upon April and Illya might be permanent. How long would it be prudent to wait? How were their mental capacities? He sent for doctor Fergus.

When she arrived, he quickly asked her for her take on the whole Dancer/Kuryakin situation. She smiled.

            “That is a question with many different answers Mister Waverly. Which one are you after?”

Waverly puffed on his pipe and regarded her thoughtfully through the smoke.

            “You decide doctor.”

She sat back and regarded him.

            “My first thought of course, was that nothing has changed at all. I wondered if they had simply been hypnotized to believe they were the other person .”

            “But they’re not hypnotized?”

            “No, I was thorough with the pair of them. There’s nothing like that there. Whatever has happened, is physical. Their brainwave patterns are on file now…as it happens, only a recent procedure. But useful this time in establishing the facts here. Mister Kuryakin’s brain has been superimposed with a new brain pattern… that of Miss Dancer; and vice versa. That would suggest to filmgoers at least, that the brain patterns had been removed and replaced.”

            “In your opinion, how are they coping with what has happened? If it should turn out to be a permanent condition, how in your opinion are they likely to deal with it?”

            “If you are asking me would Miss Dancer be able to successfully reconcile herself to becoming a man, then yes, eventually. They will each go through a period of mourning of course. I believe that it would be more difficult for Mister Kuryakin than it would for Miss Dancer, if only because being male he is unaccustomed to dealing with the greater hormonal changes that are part and parcel of being female. That being said, having no alternative, they would both find a way of dealing with their situation eventually.”

            “And their chances of becoming qualified once more for the field?”

            “Well, I’d say for Miss Dancer, light, local duties right away, sir. I would give Mister Kuryakin some more time.”

            “Not doing so well huh?” Waverly looked sympathetic, and, slightly helpless.

            “Let us just say that assuming medical manage to find a way to correct this situation, Mister Kuryakin will have a much closer understanding of the female psyche than any other man living.”

Waverly nodded.

            “Is he cooperating with you, doctor?”

Fergus just smiled.

 

It was with a great deal of relief for April Dancer, still of course, in Illya’s body, when she was given leave to join Mark Slate on a few local courier jobs. It was nice have something positive to do and to feel useful rather than sitting around at home or at headquarters signing forms and waiting. As they sat in Mark’s car, Mark glanced sideways at his partner.

            “You know April, I will have to call you Illya in public. I can’t imagine the ribbing Illya will get after all this is over if everyone hears me calling him April.”

            “You do believe it will be all right in the end, then?”

            “Of course it will.” Mark replied. “Besides, it is pretty weird having you looking like Kuryakin. He still scares the willies out of me when he gives me that icy stare. You have that look off a treat.”

April smiled.

            “I’ve been practicing it in front of the mirror. I’m worrying about Illya though. He’s having trouble coping with being me.”

Mark glanced at her for a moment, puzzled, and then nodded in understanding.

            “Hmmm the see-sawing hormones and mood-swings and…”

She dug him in the ribs indignantly and he laughed.

            “Tough stuff for a bloke to deal with April. Illya’s made of stern stuff. He’ll deal with it. He’ll know you pretty well when all this is over.”

She blushed.

            “Like I know him. Illya isn’t the only one having trouble dealing with….certain things.” She shook her head at his enquiring look. “Never mind…”

She suddenly hissed in pain.

            “Yee-ow!”

She leant forward, her head in her hands, the slightly grumbling headache she had had ever since leaving headquarters suddenly a hundred times worse. She clamped her mouth tightly shut, closing her eyes against the light.

            “April! April!”

He pulled to the side of the road and pulled out his communicator.

            “Open channel D please. Medical. Doctor Simpson, this is Agent Slate. Agent Dancer is almost paralysed with a terrible headache, doctor. No, she can’t even function. I’ve never seen anything this serious before. I have to bring her back right away.”

            “As soon as you can Mister Slate.” Doctor Simpson replied. “Mister Kuryakin has just collapsed with the same condition. There has to be a connection.”

            “On my way.”

April was almost delirious with the agonizing pain. Gradually though, she found that as they drew nearer to headquarters, the pains in her head receded until by the time they were going back through Del Floria’s shop, it was back to the dull ache she recalled before. She felt slightly shaky, however, and was glad to be able to lie down and rest. The severity of the pain had been exhausting. Illya was unconscious on the next bed. Napoleon was close beside him, looking worried.

            “As soon as you left, Illya began to suffer increasing amounts of the pain.” Simpson informed them. “When you called, he had just passed out.”

Napoleon was running his hands through his black hair.

            “So what does this mean, doctor? That April and Illya cannot be separated? That they need to be together? Why if they are fully switched? What difference does it make? Have they had any pain before?”

April raised herself on one elbow.

            “When we first woke up in those labs we had horrific headaches, but they wore off quickly enough. This was a lot worse than that though. I really felt as my head was being pulled apart.”

Simpson rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

            “Your minds have been ripped from your own bodies and dumped elsewhere, but there must still be some kind of connection there. The question is…are you connected to each other, that is to your own bodies somehow, or to the machines?”

            “Perhaps both, doctor.” April replied. Frowning. “Perhaps if you take Illya away and leave me here and see if the same thing happens? Then take us both away…”

Simpson nodded.

            “We need to investigate this. I need to speak with my colleagues and with our science division. I suggest you both get some rest and I’ll be with you presently. Mister Slate and Solo, you may remain with your partners if you wish, but let me know of any changes.”

            “Yes sir.” Solo replied, sitting down once more and taking Illya’s small hand, looking at April’s elfin face and auburn hair and asking himself if he could ever get used to the mind of his partner being in this female body, should this condition turn out to be irreversible.

 

The next three days involved detailed testing for both Dancer and Kuryakin. First, whilst Dancer was kept in medical, Napoleon was instructed to take his partner out in the car, with a nurse in attendance, just in case, to see what, if anything happened. Just as before, they discovered that Kuryakin had a grumbling headache as soon as he left medical, whereupon once he reached a five mile distance, suddenly he was crippled with agonizing pains in his head. Napoleon drove hurriedly back again, whilst the nurse kept a close eye on her patient to ensure that there were no other changes.

The following day, both patients were removed from medical, each with a nurse in tow, and taken in opposite directions. This time, they each got little more than two miles away from HQ when both patients began to exhibit severe pain and distress.

On the third day, it was decided to remove the machines, just to make sure that they were not instrumental in causing the pain. The machines were gone all day, and when the section three agents returned, with the report of having taken the machines on a fifty mile round-trip, it was clear. The machines were not causing or instrumental in causing the pain.

Doctor Simpson, Doctor Peterson, Doctor Romeo, Doctor Fergus and the science and research division met together to discuss these latest results and what they could mean. UNCLE New York’s Chief scientist, Professor Adam Kamil removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

            “Well, the fact is, we have examined those machines in minute detail, and examined the man’s notes, and we have been able to replicate the procedure, with two white mice.”

            “White mice? They gave you a good account of the experience?” Simpson grinned. Kamil shrugged, the joke going right over his head.

            “We painted numbers on their backs, and trained one of them to perform a simple task, and then attempted the switch procedure with the untrained mouse. We know it worked, because the untrained mouse was then able to perform the trained tasks, whereas the trained mouse had lost the ability. A clear case of the successful switch. Following your recent discoveries about Miss Dancer and Mister Kuryakin needing to remain together, we performed the same tests on the mice…but we kept them apart.”

            “What happened?”

            “We tested the neural responses of these mice and we found that in each case, prolonged separation caused the process to reverse itself automatically. It seems that this switch process is only stable when the two subjects remain in close physical proximity to one another. When they are apart it causes intense pain, unconsciousness and then reversal.”

Peterson beamed.

            “So we have a cure for our agents then?”

The professor’s mouth turned down.

            “One of our tested mice died. We believe it was neural shock that killed it. We have a way to reverse the process, but Kuryakin and Dancer will need to be warned. It will be very painful and traumatic, and may cause neural shock. It could be fatal.”

One by one the staff looked round at doctor Fergus. She had been working with both of the agents concerned every day since the switch had happened, trying to help them to deal with their new situation.

            “What do you think they’ll say?”

Fergus looked round the room.

            “If just one of them agrees and one refuses, we cannot go ahead with it. I can’t imagine either of them refusing the take the chance, under the circumstances. How would you cope with it gentlemen? I believe they will both be willing to snatch at any straw. Especially Mister Kuryakin. He has been having more trouble coming to terms with his situation than Miss Dancer.”

            “Well then gentlemen, we’ll put this solution to them as the only chance.” Simpson said decisively. “My suggestion though is to put them both in two separate, fully equipped ambulances. That way if either of them do go into neural shock, they can be treated without delay. Doctor Peterson, doctor Fergus, if you will join me in passing on our news? Professor, and the rest of you, thank you for all of your sterling work on this matter. Doctor Romeo, since we have learned all we possibly can from these machines, would you oversee their dismantling and see that they are locked away securely in the UNCLE vault? Professor?”

Kamil nodded eagerly.

            “Yes, yes, a most distressing and unethical invention. We need to keep the notes safely in the vault though, just in case THRUSH ever comes knocking here for them.”

The meeting broke up, and the three doctors made their way back up to medical where their two patients were in the day room, reading and signing off reports brought down for them by their partners. They got to their feet when they saw the delegation arriving. Illya, whom had been feeling achy and nauseous all week was feeling better, and despite still being stuck in April’s female body, was heartily sick of coming in to medical every day. He was desperate to see the sun and feel the wind on his face. He glowered at the two men and their female colleague. Fergus ignored his glare and smiled kindly.

            “We have a meeting with Mister Waverly in his office in five minutes. Would you to mind fetching your partners and meeting us there? We have…news for you.”

Illya and April stared at one another, their eyes wide with mixed hope and dread; nodded their heads and headed off up the corridor. More sedately, armed with their evidence provided by research and development, the doctors made their way up to Waverly’s office.

 

April and Illya stared at one another as they heard the three doctors’ proposal. So that was what that agonizing pain had been all about? Their minds protesting badly at being separated from their own bodies. The risk was a little worrying, but to weigh that against being stuck forever in this position, especially being unable to separate at any time would eventually become unbearable. Illya stared at April, his eyes a little pleading.

April, to her immense surprise, found that, although she was every bit female, she had enjoyed being a man temporarily. She had enjoyed the way people responded to her as she marched through the corridors. Since the majority of staff had not been briefed on what was happening, to everyone out there she had experienced what it was like to be Illya. To be regarded with respect and awe as Illya was. She was shocked to find that she was in no hurry at all to change back. Then she looked again at her own body. Illya seemed in a way to be dying inside a little every day. He was a man who never showed his emotions, although she was certain he had them. To be a man who constantly fought to keep every emotion tightly under wraps and then find himself besieged by strong emotions triggered by hormonal surges alien to him was clearly taking its toll on him. He was still largely stoic, but the battle within him was easier to see these days, but he seemed to be wilting. The pleading in his eyes was as loud as a siren to her. She nodded. She had paused for less than half a second, but to Illya it had seemed like a lifetime.

            “When can we go through the procedure?”

Doctor Simpson smiled at her.

            “Give us an hour Miss Dancer. Once the ambulances are prepared for you, we can begin.

Whilst they were back down in medical, waiting for the time to begin this new attempt, Napoleon spoke to his partner about something that was worrying him.

            “Illya…should I go with you or with April?”

            “What do you mean? Me of course!”

            “Illya, if I go with you…as you are now, then if all goes as we hope it will, April will be in that body, and you will be in the other ambulance, in your own body. Would you rather I were with you at the start or at the finish of this procedure?”

            “If it works, I will be home again…but possibly in medical difficulties? I will at least be in good hands, and you can catch up with me when I get back here. If it fails to work though, my friend, I think I will certainly need you with me then.”

Napoleon nodded.

            “All my hopes for you, Illya. You know, if I had been in your position, I might have tried to have a little fun with it…”

Illya smirked.

            “I don’t doubt that! You would probably have made a much more successful woman than me Napoleon, because you at least understand them so well.”

            “Well so will you from now on, whether this works or not.”

Illya nodded.

            “One or two experiences these past few days were ones I never thought I would have to endure, being male. I have always respected women, Napoleon, but now I have learned to admire women even more, having experienced some of their…problems.”

Napoleon smiled.

            “I happen to know that April had thoroughly enjoyed being you. She has always fancied you, did you know that?”

Illya’s eyes opened wide.

            “No, I had no idea of it. I hope that fact did not cause her any difficulties.”

            “Well, she is a professional. She wouldn’t say so even if it had. She might tell you…although I doubt it. She did say she was astonished at how hungry she seemed to be in your body.”

Illya shrugged.

            “In this body Napoleon, eating really hasn’t seemed much of an issue. If she eats as much in this body as she probably did in mine, she will be putting weight on pretty quickly. I really hope this works!”

 

Finally, the time came for them to leave. They were strapped down onto the ambulance trolleys, with various monitors attached to them, and then they set off, in two different directions. 

As before, before the ambulances had covered three miles, Illya cried out in pain, his eyes tightly closed, his teeth gritted. Napoleon held his hand tightly, hating to see his partner suffering so much. He was look down at April’s body, but the words issuing from her lips were Russian. Before, they had always stopped the vehicle, turned around and hurried back to safety. The idea on this occasion was to let this pain run its course, but it was horrible to see. Tears were sliding down Napoleon’s face in sympathy before his partner’s agonized screams cut out abruptly, his head lolling. He stepped back out of the way as Doctor Peterson and the nurse, Naomie Richards hurried to check the patient. There were several heart-freezing moments when April’s heart faltered, and her breathing stopped, then came the reassuring beep, beep, beep, beep of the monitor, and her chest was rising and falling in regular rhythm. Peterson stepped back and mopped his brow.

            “Safe and strong output. We keep going until we hear from the other ambulance. Only one question to answer now.”

Napoleon nodded.

            “Yes, doctor. Is this April, or is it Illya?”

 

In the other ambulance, Mark Slate watched, his heart in his mouth as Illya’s body went into severe shock, and five minutes passed before doctor Simpson and nurse Ellie coaxed a response. It was a further ten minutes until they had managed to stabilize him into a regular, safe rhythm. Mark let out a shaky breath.

            “I really hope this has worked for you both.” He muttered, shaking his head sadly. Doctor Simpson sat down beside him, heaving a sigh that revealed his relief.

            “We’ve just heard from the other ambulance. All is well there too. Miss Dancer’s body is stable…but whoever is in there in still unconscious. We will just have to wait until they reawaken before we can know if this experiment was successful. We are both now on our way back to UNCLE medical.”

The two ambulances arrived back simultaneously, and Mark and Napoleon followed their partners back down to medical, each of them wondering which bedside to sit next to.

Three hours later, a pair of lovely green eyes opened a fraction, April’s head moved on the pillow.

            “Mark…is that you?”

Mark nodded.

            “It’s me. Is that still you, Illya? Or are you back April?”

The eyes smiled tiredly.

            “It’s me Mark. I’m April. I sound like myself again. It worked!”

Mark hugged his partner fiercely.

            “It’s so good to have you back where you belong.”

            “How is Illya?”

Mark looked at the other bed. Illya was still unconscious, breathing easily, his heart-rate strong and regular. Napoleon was talking to him constantly, but so far no sign of movement. Mark nudged Napoleon.

            “Hey Guv, April’s back where she belongs. It worked!”

Napoleon nodded, and gulped, a tear slid down his face. He wiped it away hurriedly and he smiled.

            “Hello again April. Glad you made it!”

Illya did not awaken until the early hours of the morning. When he did open his eyes, he found his partner slumped, as ever, in a chair beside the bed. As soon as Illya moved, Napoleon jerked himself awake and grasped his partner’s hand.

            “Illya?”

Illya nodded.

            “Did it work?”

Napoleon nodded.

            “You are once again the grumpy, stoic Russian we all love.” He said softly. “April woke up yesterday afternoon.”

            “What time is it?”

            “Two-thirty in the morning.”

            “Is she still here?”

Napoleon shook his head.

            “No, Mark’s taken her home for a little TLC. He’ll bring her back first thing for a check-up. How are you feeling, partner?”

Illya considered.

            “Actually, not bad.”

            “Not tired?”

            “Not really, but maybe I ought to try and get some sleep. I think you should too my friend. If April’s gone, why don’t you take the next bed? It’ll be more comfortable than snoozing in the chair.”

Napoleon nodded, and squeezed Illya’s hand one more time.

            “Illya, it is so good to have you back where you belong.”

He kicked his shoes off and perched on the edge of the next bed to remove his jacket. Illya turned over to face him and raised himself on his elbow.

            “If this had not worked, could you have gotten used to me being female?”

            “Of course. You would still be you. My best friend and partner. It might have taken a while, but I’d’ve got used to it eventually. As you would have.”

Illya shook his head.

            “No, I do not think I make a very good woman, Napoleon. I might have learned in the end, but I would never be as good a female agent as April is. Do you know she often vomits during her cycle? Can you imagine knowing that two or three days every month you know you are going to be in pain and feeling lousy and vomiting all day, and yet say nothing and still get on and do your job?”

Napoleon grinned.

            “You realize that this experience will only serve to make both you and April better people? Perhaps THRUSH did you a favour after all?” He laughed when his partner pulled a face.

            “Okay, maybe not. Let’s chalk this one down to one of the weirder projects THRUSH has tried out, and just be grateful that it was not as successful as they were hoping. You can imagine what they could have done if it had worked according to their hopes?”

Illya nodded.

            “That dotty THRUSH professor was all excited about it. I dread to think how far they could have gone if we hadn’t managed to stop them. Well, goodnight my friend.”

            “Good night Illya.”

Seven miles away, in Mark’s apartment, he was sitting on his sofa, his eyes half closed, listening to soft music on the radio whilst April stood behind massaging his shoulders for him.

            “Oh April, I am so glad you have your own hands back!”

            “My own hands? Why? Are they softer or something?”

Mark grinned, shaking his head.

            “I dunno luv, I daresay they are, but I didn’t dare ask you to do my shoulders for me yesterday. Imagine what the neighbours would’ve thought, seeing Illya standing there doing what you’re doing?”

            “You could have told them he was your masseur?”

Mark gave a short, choking laugh.

            “Almost as bad! Aw thanks partner, just what I needed. How about you? Ready to take your turn?”

April nodded, sitting in the chair he had just vacated, and swung her hair out of the way.

            “This is the life. Thanks Mark. I must say I have missed our de-stressing sessions. Whose turn is it for the sofa tonight?”

            “Actually, yours, but you can take the bed this time. As a reward for being you again.” He paused, and then turned an impish grin on her.

            “I got the impression you quite enjoyed being in Illya’s body for a while?”

She grinned, her eyes dreamy.

            “Oh yeah…” then she paused, and her eyes looked sad. Mark frowned.

            “What’s wrong? You’re not sad to be yourself again are you?”

            “No no no. it isn’t that. I just…I lived being in his body at first…I’ve fancied him since the day he arrived. The thing is…his body is not the same without _him_ in it.”

Mark’s eyes opened wide.

            “So it isn’t just his pretty face that you fancy then?”

She shook her head.

            “I thought it might have been, but I found out that its him. Illya himself, the man inside.”

            “Are you going to tell him?”

She shook her head.

            “Maybe some day, but not yet. Come on, we’d better get some sleep. Goodnight partner.”

Mark watched her enter the bedroom and close the door and smiled to himself.

            “…and so we live happily ever after…” he murmured as he snuggled down to sleep.

 


End file.
